


Til Kingdom Come

by exsync, maybetimeless



Category: Produce 101 (TV), Wanna One (Band)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Historical AU, Lots of mushy language, M/M, Royalty AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-26
Updated: 2018-05-26
Packaged: 2019-05-14 00:09:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14758904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exsync/pseuds/exsync, https://archiveofourown.org/users/maybetimeless/pseuds/maybetimeless
Summary: "Jisung, why must all the things I love hurt me so much?""Because you love them too much, your highness."For the prompt: Prince Jihoon is cursed with destroying everything he touches, being trapped in a glass dome away from the rest of the kingdom his entire life - until one day Bae Jinyoung is assigned to be his guard and somehow he doesn't fall apart when Jihoon intertwines his fingers with his.





	Til Kingdom Come

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mix/gifts).



> Please heed the warnings in the tags! -mod
> 
> A/N: Hi gian! I hope you like the fic (even though it kinda diverged from the prompt a bit at some parts)! And to other readers, I hope you enjoyed it too! There are a few implied things in here, but I hope it's not too confusing. I honestly have no idea what I wrote lol, but hopefully it turned out alright. Stay shipping winkdeep my intellectuals :)

It wasn’t always like this. If he closed his eyes and scoured his own mind long enough he would remember the details of what once was; the sweet scent of roses in full bloom, its soft petals smooth as velvet under his fingertips, the sound of mundane chatters as he wandered the village accompanied by Jisung; and most longed for of all, the warmth of his mother’s tender touch. The touch of another human that he would learn to appreciate much too late, for all the things which he had once taken for granted may now only persist as wishful thinking.

 

On the morning after his 12th birthday he awoke in a feverish delirium, his forehead prickled with cold sweat and the sound of his heart’s palpitation deafening in his ear. Sunlight filtered in through the arched windows of his room and yet despite the tingling sensation of rays tickling his skin, he could not feel its heat. It was as if the channels connecting his senses had snapped and all he could comprehend was the numbing cold that enveloped his body. Panic rose at the pit of his stomach. It was to be the day he would finally be permitted to enter the royal court and sit through the council meeting, to take his first step towards being a successor for the throne. He could not afford to be ill; after all, the council was already doubtful of his abilities to rule. Too weak. Too jejune for the responsibilities that came with being crown prince. They can’t know, Jihoon decided. He had to consult Jisung.

 

The limped remains of a gift he had received the night before caught his eyes amidst his internal panic. In between the luxurious presents of silver and gold, and imposing grandiosity, he had received a single stem of rose, unassuming and crude in its crimson beauty. There was no sender attached to the gift but the prince’s love of foreign floras was well known enough that it wouldn’t be unimaginable for the little gift to be from an apprehensive member of the household. So he had kept it, despite the thorns adorning its stem, despite the prickle of blood it drew from his finger, for as he’s learnt, the love of the people is the greatest gift of all.

 

He frowned. The rose now sat wilted where he’d left it the night before, its petals blackened and curled, the brilliant crimson now a burnt umber. He had received flowers and watched them die but never this fast, and never like this. It looked almost charred in its ruins. A knock on the door silenced his progressing thoughts.

 

“Your highness, you have called for me?”

 

Somehow the mere presence of Jisung was enough to send a small wave of comfort through him. Aside from being his personal aide, he was a brotherly figure, and a friend; an advisor who always seemed to know what to do and a trusted source of comfort he could always go to in times of trouble.

 

At the sight of the young prince’s wan complexion, he’d immediately rushed over, concerned etched across his face.

 

“Your highness, what’s the matter?”

 

“I think I might be ill,” he muttered, before quickly blurting out, “But you mustn't tell anyone, okay?”

 

The lines on the elder man’s face deepened at that but he nodded at the prince’s request. “Of course, your highness.” Moving tentatively, the aide reached a hand out towards the young prince’s forehead, presumably to check his temperature.

 

“May I?”

 

Jihoon nodded.

 

What came next was a blur to the young boy.

 

Jihoon felt it, Jisung's touch. A warm graze of skin against his, and then not a second later, a zap! A sharp shock that sent fireflies blinding his sight. And then the world fell away. It was as if a million thorns were piercing into every crevice of his skin, their razor sharp ends feeding poison down his veins. He could feel his nerves convulsing between his flesh, and with it, his vision faltered. Someone was screaming, a blood curdling sound he could not connect to the pounding of his head, yet once registered, it was all he could hear. It took him a while to realise it was his own voice. Jihoon was convinced he was dying. And yet too weak to fight, he allowed the sinking darkness to swallow him whole.

  


\----------

  


Death. Not the decay of rotting flesh nor the tangy metallic of bloodshed. Death, in all its absolute glory, was what he awoke to. Inexplicable in its harrowing ways, he thought this must be what hell felt like.

 

Except it wasn’t hell for he could hear his mother’s voice, the shrill vibrations of it ringing like nails on glass to his ears. He was not dead. Had it been a bad dream? His head felt heavy, as if it was made of led and he struggled to sit up.

 

“...-bring someone else in. We will reward them handsomely! Anyone!”

 

“Your highness… I-I’m afraid this is not the workings of an illness but that of a cur-.”

 

“Enough! He-“

 

“Mother?”

 

The room fell to a hush at the sound of his voice, its six occupants whipping around to stare at him. His cheeks felt cold, and he brought a hand up to them, only to find them wet. Had he been crying? The silk sheets beneath him was unfavourably slick and cool. He was not in his room. This place was much more empty, its wooden structure bare, with only a single door in his field of vision. If he hadn’t known any better he would’ve assumed it was a prison of sort. Somehow, even in his groggy state of mind, Jihoon got the impression something was terribly wrong.

 

Three metres away four men positioned around the bed stood guarding him.

 

“Jihoon!”

 

Guarding people _from_ him he realised when his mother rushed forward only to be stopped.

 

“Your majesty, you shouldn’t..”

 

He swallowed.

 

“Mother, what’s wrong? Where’s Jisung?”

 

A weep escaped the distraught queen, her usually impeccable porcelain face creased with anguish, her eyes rimmed red and hair disheveled. Before she could respond, a voice boomed from behind.

 

“Accompany the queen back to her chamber.”  

 

“No! your majesty, no.. I am fine! No!”

 

He watched mortified as his mother was ushered out of the room, her frantic shouts of dissent fading with every passing second. 

 

“Father...”

 

With a single gesture, guards emptied out soon after, leaving Jihoon alone to shrivel back in trepidation at the looming figure.

 

As soon as the door clicked closed, the king's carefully hidden anger erupted.

 

“You fool!” Jihoon flinched. Rage dictated the projection of his father's voice, though up close, only contrite sadness was reflected in his eyes as he stared at his young son.

 

“I told you to be careful did I not? The title you were bestowed, the responsibilities it carried, the glory! They come at a price, foolish child. You are a walking target! A weak link to me!”

 

His father’s words rolled over him like acid, destructive even across the floors of distance between them.

 

“F-father… I don’t understand. What’s wrong?” he stammered, “Where’s Jisung?”

 

“He’s dead. Along with half a dozen of my guards,” came the reply, cold and cutting.

 

“But I just saw him father, I don’t-”

 

“They are dead, boy! Whatever you’ve involved yourself in, it has made you dangerous! An...an aberration, a curse!” His father was no longer looking at him,  the words he spat out seeping between them like venom.

 

_Jisung._

 

_Jisung?_

_Dead?_

 

_That can’t be._

 

Jihoon’s vision blurred, for a different reason this time and he dug his nails into his palm, his head spinning.

 

“Father… I-”

 

_I don’t understand. I haven’t done anything. I haven’t killed anyone. Not Jisung._

 

“I...love you, my son,” his father interrupted, “But that love has been used against me. You... destroy everything you touch. It is no longer in my hand. As King, I cannot allow you to destroy the kingdom I have poured blood into building. You shall abdicate the title of crowned prince, and you shall not leave this room unless permitted otherwise by me, do you understand?”

 

_Throne. Jisung. The throne._

 

_Jisung._

 

He was quickly reminded of the excruciating pain he had felt before the darkness came to take him away, how he thought he had been dying. It suddenly hit him that the pain he had felt wasn’t his, it was Jisung’s. He’d felt his life being ripped right out his body.

 

The weight on his chest dropped to stomach and he could no longer hold back the tears that rimmed his eyes. They cascaded down the curves off his cheeks as he turned away from his father.

 

_Jisung was dead and he had killed him. It was his fault. He had killed him._

 

Jihoon stared down at his unbloodied hands. At the familiar curves and lines of his palm, then turned on his side and emptied his stomach of what little content it contained.

 

The smell of death wasn’t coming from the air.

it was coming from him.

From, the hell that had manifested within him.

The hell that would rot away the very essence of his being.

He had become death.

 

\----------

  


When you have been dubbed the devil for long enough, it would only be a matter of time before you started acting like one. After two whole years of delivering false promises and vain hope, his father stopped visiting. When Jihoon was younger, when he felt like being a masochistic fool, he would wander to the very far window of his room, the only one there was, and wait. Wait for the King to stroll pass accompanied by his heir on one of their walks. Wait for him to glance his way for once. For him to remember that once upon a time, there was a Park Jihoon. Once upon a time, he was his son and heir.

 

But alas, the waiting was in vain for it seemed the more he bided his time, the more they were forgetting. Healing. Replacing. It was almost as if he had never existed. He wished he could despise Park Woojin for living the life Jihoon was promised. For not wondering of his brother's condition, for never visiting. They once met eyes, he thought, but Woojin had looked away and promptly strode off. That was only to be expected though he supposed. Some shared blood meant nothing in the grand scheme of royal politics. In fact, Woojin's family was likely celebrating his downfall. There had always been mutual rivalry between the two halves of the royal family. For the preferred heir to become a cursed bringer of death and destruction, and the queen to fall so far off the cliff of insanity that her descend into madness would become a popular story told to villagers, it was all gains for the Lee family. At times Jihoon wondered if it had been them who had cursed him. But as things were then, such conspiracy would only make things worse. They might lock the room again. The first few years was hell. To suddenly be restricted from all interaction, to be pushed away, locked up, shunned; it pushed him to a corner where he’d allowed the curse to work on his ever inflating emotions, allowed it to do things he would live to regret. It was as if it had a life of its own, hungry for death.

 

It took years for him to gain back control, and a few more years before they unlocked the doors, allowed him permission to go outside. Only in the period before dawn and after dusk, and not to far of course. Not to the main palace where he ran the risk of running into people, but he was allowed to go as far as the garden and that was what was important. He didn’t really want to see people anyway. When they realised he wouldn’t be out on killing sprees, security slackened. Guards were to remain outside his room, and an assigned personal bodyguard would accompany him should he choose to wander outside.

 

Somewhere in between the futile search of a cure and rising self hatred, he discovered a silver lining to the cataclysmic curse. The ability to kill anyone with a single touch although tragic, may also bring with it power. He was a walking weapon. He could help in battles. He could _do something._ The suggestion did not leave his lips for long before it was shot down, for fear blinded even the most strong minded of logic. They feared he would attack not only the enemies but them, they feared he would lose control, and that fear was warranted he supposed, for there were times he himself felt as if he would lose it, times when he found himself a ghost to his own body. But this feeling of worthlessness was driving him insane, so he focused his energy on the one thing he could and prayed one day he would be able to gain their trust. Control. Careful practice with plants had given slow progress, and on days where he could not get the deterioration to slow down, built up frustration would erupt. And then what little progress he’d made would feel like nothing compared to the amplified rage thrumming down his veins.  On those days they would lock the doors again and feign ignorance to the terrible shouts.

  


\----------

  


He slowly stroked a finger across the smooth stem, watching carefully as its crimson petals shrivelled up and curled, before detaching of its sepal and falling atop the many before it. It was with sardonic irony that he killed roses. The years of searching had led him to two conclusions; one, for a curse this powerful to work, the victim’s blood must be present. Two, once completed, it was irreversible. He bled once that night before it all came falling. The unknown culprit was either a poet or a sadist, to twist the thing he loved into the very trigger of his demise. Love and hate, both such strong emotions and yet there came a time where the line between the two was indistinguishable. So he didn’t try to separate them. He sat and admired those pretty petals like he always did before, and then watched them fall apart between his two hands.

 

A firm knock on the door diverged his attention and he was grievously reminded of a memory he wished to forget.

 

“I told you not to disturb me,” he snarled, annoyance ringing clear in his tone,”Get lost before I lose my temper.”

 

The words weighed heavy on his tongue, but it was all he could produce. In a world where anger was the only thing that could put warmth back into your body, you learn to project every emotion into that. The bitterness of his situation helped.

 

“Y-your highness... your new personal guard is here, sire.”

 

Jihoon paused mid action, a frown gracing his features. “What happened to Kwon Hyeob?

 

Over the past years he’d had dozens of personal guards. They never stayed long. Sickness, displacement, injuries. None to Jihoon’s personal fault but people will believe what they wanted. Worst position in the palace they would say, the curse traversed his body, even without touching people he would bring harm, that was what happened when the devil’s was planted in you. But that was what made Kwon Hyeob different, and on a scale relative to the hoards of disdainful faces, Jihoon found Kwon Hyeob to be almost likeable. He for once didn’t cower in fear at the sight of him, and allowed Jihoon to wander the garden on his own accord. (Threats usually worked just fine but it was much more convenient to not have to scare them off.) A part of him thought it was less about Jihoon himself and more to do with the fact that Kwon Hyeob had nothing to lose. Nevertheless, he had hoped Kwon Hyeob would stay a little longer.

 

“...He was moved sire.”

 

Of course, nothing ever worked in his favour.

With a begrudging sigh, he called out a gruff “Come in.”

  


\----------

  


Jinyoung was tall. Almost a head taller than Jihoon. Jinyoung had a mole above his right eyebrow. Jihoon knew this because he was standing close. Too close. Closer than anyone Jihoon had been around since it all started. If he reached his hand out right now he would be able to touch Jinyoung; kill him.

 

“Are you perhaps suicidal?” Jihoon wondered aloud, cocking his head as he stared the guard down.

 

“No, your highness.”

 

Jinyoung’s voice was a low timbre, its vibrations sending a rush down Jihoon’s spine. He repressed a shudder. A side effect of the curse was that he was able to sense things just a bit more than your typical human. He could feel, really feel the wind curling pass his body, hear every crisp rustle of leaves, and right then, he could see all the flecks of burnt sienna in the younger man’s eyes. When was the last time someone had looked him in the eye when they talked?

 

“Jinyoung.. Jinyoung, right? You know I could kill you right this instant?”

 

“I trust you not to your highness,” came the terse reply.

 

Interest piqued, lighting up the prince’s eyes and he took a step forward, gaze fixated on the guard. They were mere centimeters apart. A little movement and the dark haired man would be a goner. Jihoon took this opportunity to taunt him. “Who said you could trust me? Have you not heard the stories?”

 

He waited for Jinyoung to flinch, to move back, react. But the man remained as stoic as ever, body unmoving and expression curious but not intimidated.

 

“I don’t believe in tales, they’re quite susceptible to alteration,” Jinyoung paused, meeting the prince’s gaze,“And for the person I must protect with my life, is trust such a strange thing to offer?”

 

Jihoon blinked, clearly taken aback by the other's response before his lips curled, a low laugh escaping, echoing like an unfamiliar song across the bare room. Breaking eye contact, he stepped back shaking his head in amusement, the laughter dying down into a crooked smile on his lips.

 

“You’re either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid,” he remarked cocking his head before swivelling around and returning to his place by the window, “I quite like you.”

 

The sky was greying, and with it the greens, warning of the incoming winter. Once upon a time he loved winter, but that was a time long ago. There was nothing worse than the cold, the snow that was once so magical now looked bleak and desolate. Nothing grew in winter, the trees stripped bare of its leaves, the flowers fallen back to their beds. Though maybe what he really hated was himself, who had become the living embodiment of the dismal winter.

 

“You may leave now.”

 

He could hear Jinyoung turning around to leave, his footstep quiet on the marbled floor.

 

“Oh, and Jinyoung,” he started. The footsteps stopped. “There’s no smoke without fire though, you know? Trust should be earned, not given.”

 

“Of course, sire.”

 

The footsteps started again. The door clicked close. The silence returned. Jihoon let out the breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. Jinyoung was dangerous, he decided. Years of being exiled, isolated, faced with the same tune everyday; anything out of the ordinary was terrifying

\----------

 

The first time Jinyoung witnessed Jihoon losing his temper was the night of the queen’s birthday. There had been music and a celebration, though the queen herself was a barely put together wreck. Jihoon was granted permission to pay his mother a visit, but only after the ceremony ended.

 

The whole day the young prince paced his room, a purple silk bag in hand as he contemplated the reunion. Under Jihoon’s request, Jinyoung had purchased the gif; an elegant gold hairpiece embedded with stones of ruby, emerald, and sapphire, a handmade one-of-a-kind item that had costed a fortune.

 

“Do you think she’ll like it?” he'd ask, cradling the delicate accessory in his hand.

 

“Of course, sire,” Jinyoung would reply with an assuring smile, to which the prince would reprociate with a rare appreciative grin.

 

“Thanks.”

 

When night fell they headed towards the queen’s quarter with Jinyoung following closely behind the zealous prince. The night was aged and the sound of chatters from folks leaving the castle grounds last minute was fading. Jinyoung waited outside while the elder entered, looking more bright than Jinyoung had ever seen him.

 

It took approximately 10 minutes for that to change. There was a loud clang, and then Jihoon bursted out the door, striding past Jinyoung, his face pinched and red.

 

“Your highness-” he tried, but words fell on deaf ears.

 

So instead, he followed closely behind, brows scrunched in worry as Jihoon marched back to their quarter. When the man finally slowed down enough for Jinyoung to catch a glimpse of his face though, his heart hitched to his throat. Glistening droplets of tears trekked down the prince's face and he had caught his lower lip between his teeth, biting down so hard Jinyoung feared he would start bleeding. 

 

“Sire..”

 

The door slammed shut in his face. The guards standing outside exchanged a look. Loud crashing sounds came immediately after, followed by a frustrated shout that deeply alarmed the younger male. Inhaling deeply, Jinyoung reached out towards the door, only to be stopped by a hand on his wrist.

 

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” the tall guard advised, shaking his shaven head in disapproval,”No one goes in when he’s like that. Just leave him be.”

 

With a frown Jinyoung shook the guard’s hand off. Somehow the thought of locking the other up with only his own misery for company was discomforting. The fact that Jinyoung had seen how eager the other male was and then later the distraught on his face probably aided in his unusual exhibition of concern.

 

Jinyoung opened the door to the sight of flying parchments. The room had been ransacked, whatever little furnitures and appliances it held strewn across the marbled floor. Jihoon was at his desk, so busy ripping pages of his books to shred that he hadn’t noticed Jinyoung walking in. His eyes were red and wet with tears, and he was muttering angry curses to himself, even as his hand shook with every frustrated effort.

 

“Your highness..” he started, voice soft as he walked forward.

 

The prince looked up then, his eyes wide like a deer caught in the headlights. With aggressive movements, he wiped at his face, averting Jinyoung’s gaze.

 

“Get out,” he murmured, voice low. It was a warning.

 

“I-”

 

“I said, GET OUT!”

 

Jinyoung watched wide eyed as the elder strode towards him, fists clenched by his side, pure hatred burning in his eyes. The vulnerable figure from before was gone, as if the sight of Jinyoung was the fuel to ignite his sparking anger. Jihoon raised his hand, and Jinyoung braced himself for the strike, his jaw tightened. Except the hit never came, and instead of striking Jinyoung, the elder male had taken to striking himself, his fist landing on his own head with a dull thud. He was sobbing now, like an abandoned child, his hand covering his face as he crouched down, his shoulders shuddering with every sob that racked through. Jinyoung bit back the urge to reach out and held the other. Instead he crouched down next to him, glancing away from the crying man.

 

“It’s so useless. It’s all so useless. Nothing I do matters. Nothing works,” he whimpered, face in hand.

 

“But that’s not your fault, sire.”

 

“It is my fault! My mother’s gone entirely insane. She doesn’t even recognise me, or herself. She’s afraid of me. Every year I keep hoping it would get better but it isn’t, it’s gotten worse. I’m useless! Things are like this because I’m weak.”

 

“Sometimes tragedy strikes the strongest of people. You’re not the perpetrator, sire. You’re a victim of it. To be able to hold on to hope, to be able to see past that darkness, makes you the strongest of all. You’re not weak at all.”

 

Jinyoung’s voice was soft, unlike his demeanour, and in the darkness of that chaotic room, Jihoon found a strange sense of serenity; he found himself unraveling, feeding his deepest thoughts to the shadows and the man within in.

 

Next to him Jinyoung listened, to the side of the story nobody wanted to hear, to secrets and thoughts he knew he would have to carry to his grave. He listened and found pieces of himself depicted in the broken shards of the other's dreams, amidst the hurt of it all. 

 

\----------

  


They never brought up that day again, though Jihoon had become considerably receptive towards the younger male.

 

“You don’t have to follow me. You can wait behind,” Jihoon mumbled as he strode across the snow towards the lone garden. It was a good hour or so before dawn, and dark like the wintry sky should be.  “I’m not going to lose control. Have a little faith.”

 

Whoever thought setting a guard on him was a good idea must truly be senseless. After all, if he really was the monster they’d made him out to be, they would need an army. He wondered what their plan was anyway if he were to lose himself again.  

 

“I know you won’t, sire. I’m here to protect you.”

 

Jihoon huffed our an airy laugh, the condensation furling out like smoke under the light of the lantern. “Enlighten me then. How might _you_ protect me when you can’t even protect yourself from me.”

 

There was a contemplative silence before Jinyoung replied. “Sometimes dangers aren’t always obvious and having a second pair of eyes around helps.”

 

That seemed to satisfy Jihoon enough for he continued the rest of their trek in silence. Jinyoung did not ask why Jihoon was headed to the garden in the middle of winter, and for that Jihoon was glad. There was simply no sensible way to explain his affiliation with the desolate season. As much as he hated it, during the winters he didn’t have to watch grasses die over every paths he walked, or worry about running into someone because people don’t wander around in this weather. Everything was dead, and amidst all that bleak white and hostile cold, he somehow belonged. He felt cold because it was cold. The plants were dead because they were meant to be. For just a while he could pretend it was all normal.

 

The snow was soft that day, a powdery consistency that sunk slightly beneath his boots at his every step.

 

“Jinyoung?”

 

“Yes, your highness?”

 

There was a lot Jihoon had learned to repress. Anger, for fear of losing control amidst the outburst, fear itself, because when so many are on to you, you can’t afford to give away your vulnerabilities like that, and then of course there was the callowness of youth. From crown prince to the cursed one, there was never much space for just mucking around, for foolery. But there was only so much you can repress before it all came tumbling down. Jinyoung was staring at him with mild curiosity, his dark eyes reflecting the glow of the lantern, and it was too tempting to stop the thoughts that had already progressed into action. The overwhelming desire to liberate washed over him. Himself, Jinyoung, the bundle of snow. Crouching down, he dug his hand into the cold substance, and in a quick swing of the arm, sent it flying towards the shocked bodyguard.

 

“Catch!”

 

He watched with delight as the flurry of white flew across the air, before fluttering down upon a wide eyed Jinyoung, who flinched and let out an oafish yelp.

 

"Sire!"

 

“That can’t be,” Jihoon teased, a laugh curling at the back of his throat, ”you’re not scared of me but you’re scared of a little snow?”

 

“I- was caught off guard, sire,” Jinyoung stammered, frantically brushing the flecks of snow off himself. Jihoon grinned. There was snow in the dark haired man’s hair and one of his eyes blinked a tick later than the other, something he did when he was nervous, Jihoon observed. The urge to reach out and brush it off his hair was strong, and Jihoon quickly turned away, a strange warmth tingling at his cheeks. Clearly Jinyoung wasn’t as unflappable as he made himself out to be, and neither was he.

 

He cleared his throat, “Anyway, that just then was just to test your reflexes. Since you’re supposed to be my personal guard and all. Don’t tell the anyone or I’ll have to murder you in cold blood.”

 

His tone was much too soft for that to be a threat though and Jinyoung seemed to notice that too for a small smile flourished on his face.

 

“Your secret is safe with me, sire.”

 

\----------------

 

For some odd reason, Jihoon felt he could trust Jinyoung, perhaps it was because he _wanted_ to trust him. It had been so long since he’d had someone willing to just listen, someone to confide in, and Jinyoung was a great listener. He took everything in quietly and knew when to say all the right things. Of course, the logical part of him knew he was a bodyguard placed there to keep an eye on him, yet unlike all the others before Jinyoung felt different. For one he had never seen the younger male interact with the other guards, or anyone else for that matter. He looked more comfortable trailing after Jihoon like a shadow than being around the others which was definitely a rare occurrence.

 

“Jinyoung, why don’t you get along with the other guards. Are they being unkind to you? Tell me if they are.”

 

Jinyoung’s eyes widened in surprise at the observation. “No, your highness. They are very kind.”

 

“Then why are you always here, even during breaks.” Jihoon knew he sounded unnecessarily inquisitive but something about Jinyoung made him feel assured in asking such trivial questions. “Are you what, a lone wolf type?”

 

Jinyoung cracked a smile, “I suppose it’s something like that. But I also, do enjoy your company.”

 

The prince flushed at that, though this time he does not try to hide it, instead he returned the warm grin, “Good company? I was starting to think it was because you pitied me.”

 

“Definitely not. You’re the subject of envy, sire, not pity.”

 

“You’re too good of a liar, Bae Jinyoung, I almost believed that.”

 

\-------------

 

Most people grow up searching for a goal in life, some don’t ever find it; others like Jinyoung had it assigned to them since birth. Jihoon was the same, groomed to fill the large shoes set out for him. So Jinyoung could imagine the anguish he must’ve felt to have it snatched out from under him. After all, without a purpose where does one stand in this world.

 

Park Jihoon was right though, he was a liar. But that was all he had ever known, and it was what gave him a place in this world; This dirty world where good men were put to death and vilified as traitors for the King’s mistake, their families disparaged until they were forced by the masses to take their own lives, the only way for him to exist was to be a liar.

 

\--------------

 

Near the garden there was a pond, a pond with water as clear as glass on most days, and sat like a sheet of mirror reflecting the setting sun in the winters. The sun was chasing the horizon, and Jihoon was chasing a rush of adrenaline. In retrospect, it was not one of his brightest ideas but he had been in the stale enclosure of his room for much too long, and the notion of being awash with exhilaration was too tempting a thought to turn down. So there they were, at the very edge of said pond with Jihoon sliding a foot across the smooth expanse of the ice, and Jinyoung shooting him perturbed looks.

 

“Sire, I don’t think we sh-”

 

“Shhh, Jinyoung. You trust me right?”

 

With a frown still sitting on his face the guard responded, “Yes, your highness.”

 

Standing up, Jihoon glanced around the area, checking for signs of any unwelcomed audience. Not that reputation mattered anymore but being dubbed as the infantile, cursed prince was not what Jihoon wanted to go down in history as. When he was sure no one else was present, he walked up to the edge, and proceeded to step unto the ice. He could hear Jinyoung’s breath hitch from behind him. One step. Two. And then he was gliding across the surface.  

 

Peals of laughter erupted from him as he wandered the slippery stretch of ice, his arms outstretched for balance.

 

“Come!” he called, a wide grin in place as he waved a hand to the bewildered man standing watch. Jinyoung stared tentatively between the prince and the ice, before, to Jihoon’s delight, he walked gingerly forward. Unlike his usual graceful self, watching Jinyoung walk on ice was like watching a fawn learn to stand for the first time, his long limbs uncoordinated as he tottered across the slippery expanse towards Jihoon. He didn’t know what it was: the situation, the company of a person, simply how precious Jinyoung looked in that moment, or perhaps the underlying knowledge that someone trusted him enough to just _do; m_ ost likely a combination of them all, sent a spike of warmth shooting up his heart, unfurling itself across his chest like a blanket. It was unfamiliar, and left him clutching at his chest in wonder. In theory, it was all in his mind so he shouldn’t have felt that physically yet there it was, the comforting warmth still pulsing in his veins. He was sure this was what he should be feeling when in the company of the beautiful princess of Yuan, not that of his mildly attractive bodyguard.

 

“Sire?” Jinyoung frowned, leaning his head into Jihoon’s vision field, his expression curious . “Are you alright? Should we head back to shore?”

 

Jinyoung’s lips were a rosy pink, as if someone had stolen the pigments of the prettiest azaleas and painted them atop his chiseled face.

 

“I-”

 

_CRACK_

 

He did not get to continue for the sound of ice cracking set panic alight in the both of them. The weight of the two men must’ve been too much for the thin ice layer to hold for a jagged line had formed on its tranquil surface. Jinyoung watched in terror as the small crack travelled towards the dazed prince, the sound of crisp ice fracturing filling the silence.

 

“Your highness!”

 

Before he could fully contemplate what he was doing, he had reached his arm out to pull the older towards him, shifting their weight over towards the verge of the pond where the slab of ice was considerably thicker. He could hear Jihoon shouting a frantic, “NO!” as he was pulled but it was too late, and his natural instinct reacted before his brain could evaluate the consequences of his action. Jihoon promptly tugged his arm away, scrambling back onto flat ground and distancing himself away from a shell shocked Jinyoung, who dazedly clambered up afterwards.

 

“You! You-” Jihoon was spluttering, his face contorting between shock and confusion, “You…..You’re alright?”

 

Jinyoung nodded in affirmation as he gazed back at the prince who was now eyeing himself with tumult. “Are you alright, sire?” he breathed.

 

“I-I don’t understand..” Leaning down, he brushed his hand against a small shrub poking out from beneath the snow. The hope in his eyes died though when it shriveled up almost immediately, its blackened leaves marking its grave upon the white snow.

 

Jihoon turned his attention back to the bodyguard, his brows knitted together as he scrutinised Jinyoung’s appearance. “That’s not it…,” he mumbled to himself, “Are you sure you’re alright?”

 

Jinyoung nodded, taking a step forward looking as healthy as ever.

 

He was sure he had touched him. He had definitely felt the warmth of Jinyoung’s hand graze his, and that should’ve been enough to bring the bodyguard to his knees. Especially since he was caught by surprise and had not been controlling its reach.

 

“Stay still,” he commanded, before stepping warily towards the younger man. Gingerly, he reached out and carefully felt the hem of the guard’s robe, earning him a funny look from said guard. Like its appearance however, the hemp fabric was coarse under his touch and just like any other guard attire distributed at the palace. It shouldn’t have been thick enough to stop the curse from affecting him, after all it hadn’t done anything for all those guards before.

 

“You- Just then… you definitely touched me, right?” Jihoon breathed, lifting his gaze up to meet that of the taller man. “I don’t understand.”

 

“Your highness, you’re shivering.”

 

_Often your lies start catching up with you._

 

There were flakes of snow on the prince’s hair and overcoat, likely from the fall he took trying to get away from Jinyoung. Some of it had melted into wet patches across the deep blue silk, leaving the prince vulnerable to the whisking wind. Before the other could react, Jinyoung reached out and with the palm of his hand, brushed the remaining flakes off of him, before sliding off his own overcoat and draping it over the other’s body. He could hear Jihoon’s breath hitch as he does so, and see the questions churning in his mind.

 

 _But that was what separated good liars from everyone else, they knew how to improvise._  


“How...how are you doing this?” Jihoon croaked, eyes darting between the coat atop his shoulder and Jinyoung’s face.

 

“I will tell you everything once we’re inside.”

 

For the first time, the older man was mute and with no struggle, allowed Jinyoung to guide him back towards his quarter.

 

\--------------

 

“A protection charm?” Jihoon frowned, settling down upon his bed in a new change of clothes.

 

Jinyoung nodded, “My grandmother.. she knew a bit about enchantments and such. She fell ill when I was very young, and knew I would have no one to fend for me if anything were to happen to her, so she casted this incantation. I’d almost completely forgotten, I had no idea it would work against curses too.”

 

“I have never heard of a protection charm working against this. Your grandmother, she must be a very powerful mage. Where is she now? Perhaps she could-”

 

“She has passed away, sire.”

 

Disappointment clouded the prince’s face and he muttered out a quiet, “Oh. I’m sorry.”

 

“That’s alright.” Jinyoung responded, “I’ll leave you to your slumber now.” Turning around, he made to walk out of the room when a small voice spoke up.

 

“Jinyoung… can you stay for a bit?” Jihoon’s voice was tremulous with hesitation as he mumbled the request. He sounded bashful, and so unlike the hard cut self assured and mildly twisted prince everyone knew him as.

 

“Sorry?”

 

The prince seemed to curl into himself slightly as Jinyoung turned towards him, his eyes downcast with embarrassment.

 

“Can you stay?”

 

“Of course, sire.”

 

A small smile curled onto Jinyoung’s lips as he strode back towards Jihoon’s bed. Settling on a chair just by the bedside, he held a hand out and watched fondly as the male slipped his hand into his. Being deprived of touches all this time had made it a topic of fascination for the young prince, as Jinyoung has picked up, and if allowing him to indulge his fascination would keep that smile on his face, he would be willing to sit there all night. Jihoon inhaled sharply, his hand trembling as the other pressed their palms together. Glancing up at Jinyoung for affirmation, he curiously threaded their fingers together, bringing a thumb down to caress the skin of the other’s calloused hand.  

 

“Are you still cold? Your hand is freezing sire.”

 

As the words left his lips, he enclosed Jihoon’s hand between both of his and watched as the elder stared agape, his eyes darting between their entwined hands and back to Jinyoung’s face. “You’re so warm.”

 

Jinyoung’s hands were calloused and scarred, from labour, from the cuts that never had time to heal, from the trainings he had done. They were calloused with experience, and so incredibly warm. Letting out a slow exhale, Jihoon slipped under his cover and allowed his eyes to fall shut, allowed his consciousness to be comforted by the heat of Jinyoung’s sincerity.

 

Next to him, the guard sat shivering slightly, his clothes were wet and his head was throbbing from staying out in the cold for too long, but Jihoon looked so delighted at the simple gesture he didn’t have the heart to pull away. So he remained there with their hands entwined, until the other finally succumbed to slumber. Until his breathing evened out, and the hard lines on his face melted away, leaving only gentle curves. Jihoon was peaceful in his sleep, young; his lashes fanned out across his cheekbones casting shadows atop his milky complexion. Just below it, the sharp slope of his nose sat, contrasting his soft features, only to give way to blossom red lips, plush and parted in sleep. Jinyoung inhaled. He had seen dazzling women, and dashing men, but none whose beauty could steal his breath like this, by simply just being.

The thought had him pulling his hand back and rising up quickly from the stool. Perhaps he had gotten too good at lying, he was starting to fall for his own deception. Perhaps he had put too much into playing this role, because he was pretty sure this was not part of the plan.  


\-------------

 

“Soft and fragile is my skin,

I get my growth in mud,

I’m dangerous as much as pretty,

for if not careful, I draw blood. 

What am I?” Jihoon asked, looking up at the taller man eagerly. Somewhere between the curious touches and sanguine expectations, the young prince had started to incorporate Jinyoung into all his daily routines. From readings early in the morning, to nightly walks, Jinyoung would be pelted with endless questions and animated chatters. No longer just a watchful shadow, he was made a companion. The only time they would part was when Jihoon would send him off towards the village, in search of a mage, one as powerful as his grandmother, a panacea to end it all. It was the closest to a cure Jihoon had ever found, and although it wasn’t much, he'd clung onto that with all his might, convincing himself that if he could somehow find a mage strong enough to cast a protection charm on him, it would counterverse the curse.

  


So Jinyoung would search everyday, for a chimera. One he himself had planted. With Jihoon’s eyes on him, luminous with hope, Jinyoung found himself falling into his own web of lies.  He found himself praying every time he knocked on the door of a new lead, wishing so much for Jihoon’s theory to be proven right. But a theory built of fiction was just that, a tall tale, and Jinyoung found himself disappointed everyday, his heart pounding painfully behind his ribcage when he returned fruitless. It hurt most when he had to relay the news, to see the little twinkles in the other’s hopeful eyes dull down just a bit, to watch the man push out an optimistic front, the wan smile on his face small but grateful.

 

“It’s alright! The north star will be out tomorrow, we’ll have better luck then,” he would say, hand coming up to smooth the furrow of the taller man’s brows, “Don’t look so glum.”

 

Jinyoung would then swallow the lump in his throat and return the smile, allow himself to be comforted even though he knew he didn’t deserve it. It was ludicrous how far a little hope could go. Gone was the broody and irritable prince from before, and in his place, a bright and magnanimous man, a rendition of his young self whom everyone thought had disappeared forever. No one could understand the prince’s change of character, and no one dared question it for fear he would revert back, or maybe they just didn’t care enough. Most were just happy their job had been made easier.

 

Of course, no one would have ever guessed the reason, or understood how much a little hope, real company, and a good night of rest could transform a man. The curse stole the throne away from him, but it was loneliness that destroyed. It was the constant nightmares that made him wish time and time again that he had been the one to die, the nightmares that would keep him up all night, shivering between the cold sheets that never seemed to provide enough warmth.

 

From the stories Jinyoung had heard, of this ill tempered man, selfish and cruel. Of his sadistic ways, putting his servants to death and killing fields of flowers because he enjoyed it. Jinyoung thought his job would be easy. But he should’ve known better than to trust the stories, after all he had heard a few about himself as well.

 

Ignorance was bliss. He didn’t blame them, it was easy to despise someone when all you’ve heard were exaggerated stories of their evil deeds, progressively getting worse as it passed from mouth to mouth. After all, they never saw the crushing disappointment on Jihoon’s face every time he tried, and failed to stop the flowers from dying under his touch. They never saw the regret on his face after he threatened his servants, scared them off so they would not come near and be hurt by the traversing curse, a theory he himself had come to believe in. They never saw the way the young male clutched onto Jinyoung at night, body trembling as he curled towards the other for warmth, or saw how every morning, those rosy cheeks would be wet with tears. Jinyoung was sure holding the prince in his arms like this every night wasn’t right, wasn’t a part of his job and he would be heavily punished if people were to find out. But somehow, somewhere along the way, soothing Jihoon’s whimpers, wiping his tear stained cheeks and whispering words of comfort until the male became pliant in his arms, had become more important that the consequences of his actions. On good nights, Jihoon would be able to sleep til dawn, his arms wrapped tightly around Jinyoung’s torso, and his expression tranquil. Conversely, Jinyoung would be up all night, the guilt in his chest finding roots, digging into his heart until it was hard to breathe. On nights like that he would press himself closer to the older man, sync their breathing and pretend he was who exactly who he should be.   

 

“Jinyoung!” the prince was waving his hand in front of him, a small pout on his face,”Am I boring you?”

 

The guard quickly shook his head, hand reaching out to grip that of the other’s in reassurance. “No, sire. Please ask me again.”

 

Perhaps it was the years without it, but Jihoon always mellowed at his touches. Often Jinyoung wondered if Jihoon favoured him only because he was the first one to be able to touch him.

 

“I said,

Soft and fragile is my skin,

I get my growth in mud,

I’m dangerous as much as pretty,

for if not careful, I draw blood.

What am I?”

 

“A thorn, your highness.”

 

A delightful chuckle left Jihoon’s lips, “Right again. Will I ever find a riddle you can not solve? How is it that you’re so clever? You should be one of the King’s scholar, not here wasting away with me.”

 

Jinyoung’s lips curled upwards at that, and he gently stroked the other’s knuckles with the pad of his thumb, “My place is beside you, sire. No place else I’d rather be.”

 

For that he was rewarded with a rare grin from the young prince. Not the cheeky smirk he usually had on around Jinyoung, nor the radiant smile he would flash occasionally, but a sweet curve of the lips and crinkling bright eyes, shy as if he was with a suitor for the first time.

 

“Even if I weren’t a prince?”

 

“Even so, sire.”

 

Jihoon wrinkled his nose at that, “Call me Jihoon.”

 

Jinyoung paused, hesitation crossing his face. It was a name he had called out many times in his own head but to say it out loud was another thing. It was consciously cutting through a fine line he had been tiptoeing around. It made everything just a bit more real.

 

“Just once. Please?”

 

Jinyoung exhaled slowly, the threads in his chest unraveling itself slowly at the innocent request. “My place is by your side, Jihoon. Being your second eyes, the shade you may always seek, a companion. No matter who you are, I am yours completely.”

 

Jihoon grinned, so wide Jinyoung feared his mouth would split. The balls of his cheeks puffed up emphasising their rosy flush and Jinyoung had to hold himself back from reaching out to cup them. There were constellations in the other man’s eyes, not the fallen ones that used to trickle down his cheeks every night, but blazing balls of fire, like the first star of a cloudless summer night.

“I'm so thankful for you, Bae Jinyoung,” he whispered, the corners of lips lifted, forming crescent moons that matched the dark star-spangled globes just above. They called him an aberration, but right there with his impish grin and adoring gaze, Jinyoung saw only a boy. A boy whose childhood was ripped out of his grasp far too soon, a boy who was unfairly persecuted and pushed away by the very people he loved, a boy who was hurt because he loved too easily. With bated breath, he watched as the elder brought their entwined hands up to his lips before pressing a chaste kiss a top it. It was so light he almost didn’t feel it, and yet his cheek did not fail to flush, and his heart did not fail to throb.

 

Jinyoung feared that like everyone else, he would break the heart of the boy who loved too easily.

 

______

  


“What’s outside the palace? Is it as beautiful as the paintings?”

 

Jinyoung watched on as Jihoon splayed black ink across white canvas, the gentle brush strokes creating outlines of an imagined abstract landscape.

 

“Even more beautiful than the paintings, if you go far out enough.”

 

“Yeah? Let’s leave. Let’s go live there.”

 

Jinyoung blinked, taken aback at the sudden suggestion. “Leave?”

 

The other nodded.“Stuck in the confine of these four walls, these poisonous grounds. I don’t want it anymore. Would you run away with me?.”

 

“But- “

 

“We could leave it all behind Jinyoung. Go to the mountain you talk about, swim freely in the lakes. We would be free.”

 

There were glints of hope in Jihoon's eyes and though his stomach turned, he relented, forcing a small smile onto his face. “Wherever you choose to go, I’ll follow sire,” he responded, passing the elder a piece of cloth to wipe the ink on as he continued to paint.

 

Their time was running out, and games of pretence can only last so long. Jinyoung bore the weight of this knowledge alone. 

 

“You always know what to say, Jinyoung,” the prince mused, his voice serious despite its initial light tone, “After we find the end to this, let’s get far away from here. I’ll take you away from here, I promise. To a place where you won’t be afraid to treat me as an equal, to a place where I would be able to love you freely.”

 

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Jinyoung smiled. “What a wonderful place that sounds like.”

  


————-

 

Atop his left shoulder blade, a red marking sat, reminding Jinyoung of who he was, and what he belonged to. Once upon a time, the sight of that red symbol would get his adrenaline pumping, his body restless with excitement. It was a doctrine of purpose, allowing Jinyoung to feel like he belonged to something, guiding his goals in life. Now the stark clash of overlapping red lines on the pale piece of paper felt more like a warning, sending his nerves on edge. He burnt the piece of parchment within minutes. A part of him wanted to search for the sender, relay a message. They weren’t ready, he wasn’t ready. But he knew the purpose of the letter was to inform, not ask, and the plan was not up for discussion.

 

The door swung open with a clatter, and Jihoon sauntered out, a yawn leaving his lips.

 

“What are you doing out here so early in the morning? It’s cold.”

 

“I was just getting a bit of air.”

 

“Is it that stuffy being around me?” Jihoon teased, a playful lilt in his voice.

 

Jinyoung’s expression remained hard though and Jihoon shifted uncomfortably under his heavy gaze.

 

“Is it?”

 

“Remember when you said you wanted to see what was out there?” Jinyoung began, his eyes remaining hooked on the other. There was an urgency in his voice as he spoke. “Let’s go now. I’ll take you. I know just where we can go.”

 

Jihoon cocked an eyebrow at that, “Why so suddenly? I mean- I want to. We can do it once we’ve found a way to reverse the curse. We’re so close now and-”

 

“You don’t need to reverse it! It will just be you and me. Us. You wouldn’t need to reverse it!”

 

Jihoon flinched back at the other’s raised tone, confusion swirling across his face and Jinyoung immediately regreted raising his voice. Taking a step forward, the taller man reached for the prince’s hand, holding it between his own. His voice was softer when he spoke again. “There’s nothing for us here, sire. But out there, the world is waiting. Everyday we sit here, searching aimlessly is another day wasted. We can continue the search for the cure out there, just us.”

 

At the warm touch, Jihoon breathed out a small sigh, and though confusion still clouded his eyes, he nodded. “Alright. _Just us.”_

 

Letting out a slow exhale, Jinyoung smiled encouragingly,“Yeah, just us. I’ll help you pack.”

  


Deep down Jinyoung knew it was a stupid idea. But one look at Jihoon, at that sliver of what, and he was ready to take the plunge. So equipped with only hope, he attempted to escape his destiny, to cheat the purpose behind the symbol carved into his skin.

 

\-------------

  


It was noon when they set off. It wasn’t hard to sneak out. Jihoon had let his guards go off for their break under orders not to disturb. Besides no one really paid much attention to the west wing of the palace. What was hard, was leaving. To step foot out of the only place he’d known the entirety of his life. A strange weight sat in his stomach. He had not said goodbye to his mother, but heading over to the quarters when he was not granted permission would only create unwanted attention. Besides, Jinyoung looked to be in a rush so he told himself he could always come back later, if he really wanted to.

 

“Where are we going, Jinyoung?”

 

“Taebaeksan. My home.”

 

“ _Home_ ,” Jihoon paused, “Do you think they know we’ve left and are searching for us?” he hated how strained hope remained on the edges his voice.

 

“Perhaps, sire.”

 

\----------

  


It was sunset when the smoke erupted, angry swirls of grey consuming the pale sky. They had gotten far but not far enough. The peak they were resting on overlooked the grand city below, where red swarms of armoured men ripped through sending screams of chaos. Jinyoung regretted deciding to stop there.

 

Jinyoung’s jaw tightened when Jihoon turned to him, alarmed.

 

“Jinyoung… what’s that?”

 

The palace was built to be impenetrable, any attacks would be foreseeable from miles away. Luckily for them, a little quarter sat at the edge of the palace, connected to a wonderful little forest, where few wandered and few knew off. A little quarter just big enough for a small army to sneak in through undetected.

 

Avoiding Jihoon's gaze, he replied. “I don’t know sire.”

 

From somewhere in the east wing, flame licked the air, illuminating the darkening sky. Jihoon’s eyes widened, and his bag dropped off his shoulder.

 

He swallowed. His _mother._

 

His eyes were glassy, reflecting the matching amber of the fire and the contrasting wash of gold atop the dusk sky. The pieces pulled together slowly and his voice quivered when he spoke. He had never wished so much to be wrong, for this to be a nightmare.

 

“Jinyoung, why were you so adamant on leaving today?” he muttered, his eyes remaining fixed on the chaos below.

 

“Sire I-”

 

“Yes Jinyoung, do tell us why you were so adamant on leaving today?” The pair jumped at the unfamiliar voice, Jihoon swivelling around towards the source, just as Jinyoung scrambled to pull the prince behind him.

 

His hand landed on his sword, and he called out blindly towards the shadows where the voice had derived. “How long have you been following us?” 

 

A figure cladded in black emerged from the shadowy cover of the forest behind them, his eyes the only thing visible, and the sliver of hope in Jinyoung's heart dissipated with every step the male took forward. His grip on the handle of his sword tightened, and he straightened himself up a bit more, in a weak attempt at hiding the prince from view.

 

“Ever since you started neglecting your duties,” the man responded, his eyes flickering from Jinyoung to the male behind him. “I knew your hot blooded tendencies would get the better of you someday. I had hoped I would be wrong.”

 

“Jinyoung, what’s going on?” Jihoon spoke up, confusion clouding his face as he stumbled back. “Do you know him?”

 

“Ah, my prince! What a fine man you’ve grown into. It’s too bad you still seem to have the same inclination for pretty, perilous things.”  The man’s mouth was covered yet somehow Jihoon could see the sick smile on his lips as he spoke, “Did you enjoy that flower we sent back then? It seemed like you did so we sent another.” He chimed, nodding at Jinyoung.

 

“What?” Jihoon gasped. 

 

Jinyoung glanced back at the now shaken prince, who stared up at him with glossy eyes as if he was a stranger.

 

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, looking deep into the others eyes hoping with all his might the elder would be able to detect the sincerity in his. He hoped, even as he saw the other’s expression harden, the walls coming up beneath his very gaze. Swallowing the cataract of explanations and apologies threatening to spew out, he tore his eyes away from the older man and instead focused on the threat standing in front of them.

 

“Seongwu hyung, please,” he croaked, voice desperate as he attempted to appeal for whatever mercy the man may have, whatever little compassion he could spare from their years together, “We’ll disappear. It’ll be as if we never existed, we won’t be a bother to the plans, I’ll make sure of it.”

 

The man pulled down his mask then, revealing a handsome face that didn’t quite match his nefarious demeanor. Amusement played at his sharp features as he spoke, “Oh, come now. Don’t personalise it like that. I adore you, Jinyoung, you know I do. But you also know this is bigger than me, and even a little symbol of hope could create cracks in the plan,” he paused, seemingly contemplating for a while, “I don’t want to kill you, Jinyoung. So here’s a last offer you really shouldn’t pass up. Kill the boy and I won’t tell the master of this little deviation.”

 

Jinyoung swallowed, his thoughts branching out to form a single thought.  _Get Jihoon out._

 

“Sire, run,” he muttered under his breath, “Run far away and don’t look back.”

 

Fingers gripped onto his shirt from behind, frantic. “I won’t. I can help. I just need to-”

 

Jinyoung nudged the elder man back before he could step forward, “The curse won’t work on him! He’s….-please just run!”

 

The desperation in Jinyoung’s voice had quite the opposite effect from what he’d hoped for. Jihoon tightened his hold around the guard’s torso, his voice coming out thin and frenzied now, “I’m not leaving! We're running together or fighting together! Us, remember? ”

 

“I’ll find you! Please run and hide until then-”

 

A callous snort broke through the moment.

 

“Bae Jinyoung, you really have become adequate at lying. Find him? That implies you will survive. You see, the story goes a little more like this, I kill you. I kill that boy behind you. The end. Save the poor boy some dignity and don’t make him run like a petrified prey through the forest. He is a prince, you know?”

 

The sound of Jinyoung’s sword unsheathing sliced through the air, breaking apart the frivolous atmosphere between them. A fight was inevitable, its outcome fixed. Seongwoo had taught him all he knew today, and as talented as he was, he had always felt inadequate in comparison to his mentor. But if fighting a losing game meant buying Jihoon some time to escape, the choice was easy.

 

“He’s bluffing. If you remain, I would have two people to protect now wouldn’t I?” Jinyoung reassured, in a calmer voice this time attempting to project an air of confidence. He  gently pried away the hand on his torso, even as his body was screaming at him not to, “Do this for me. Please. I’ll see you later.”

 

His eyes remained steady on Seongwu as he spoke, because he didn’t want to turn around and look at Jihoon. He didn't want to see the anguish in the other's eyes, or allow Jihoon to see the fear reflected in his own. With his back turned it was easier to convince the other male he would see him again. An strange ache throbbed in his chest when Jihoon’s hold slackened, even as relief filtered through. 

 

“Ok. That’s a promise. Come soon,” the small voice whispered, this time strangely collected as if something had clicked in him. Perhaps Jinyoung’s betrayal was seeping in now, and whatever affection he had for him before was gone. Jinyoung watched with a heavy heart as the other male took off, his back disappearing into the looming forest. The words he didn’t say weighed on his tongue, but he swallowed them all down and forced the ache in his chest into numbness. For what he did, he didn’t deserve to have a last word. Instead he turned to Seongwu. He was suddenly aware of the hard beating of his own heart in his chest, the sound of his body reacting in the face of death. _Fear._

 

“Great performance. A bit annoying. Really wish you hadn’t done that, because it’s a bit of a nuisance. Lucky for us I love hunting,” Seongwu grinned. Jinyoung repressed a shudder. To think this was the same man he had grown up with, he now understood what they meant by absolute disassociation. Hesitation, empathy, all these human emotions had no place on the battlefield; For once a sword was drawn, the intent will be to kill, and when one’s intent was to kill, you cannot afford to be humane if you want to win. The grip on his blade tightened. To kill the hand that fed you, his mentor,  he would either die tonight or come out a monster.

 

\-------

 

Jihoon was running. He was not sure what he was doing, or where exactly he was going but he had a purpose. He knew Jinyoung was lying, he could feel the slight tremor in his body when he wrapped his arm around him, see the tension in his jaw as he spoke. But standing there waiting for Seongwu to plunge his sword into them both was foolish, so he agreed to run. The curse wouldn’t work on Seongwu, Jinyoung had said, and he seemed to know what he was talking about, so Jihoon needed to find a weapon if he was to be any help.

 

People often underestimated the element of surprise. The rock was heavy, its jagged texture rough, and yet it fitted perfectly in the palm of his hand. He could see the light of the clearing where he had run out from and the cacophonous sound of metal clashing. _Jinyoung was holding on._ With caution, he lightened his footstep and entered the clearing.

 

Adrenaline pumped down his veins when he caught sight of the scene. The taller male had Jinyoung backed up against the bark of a tree, his sword pushing dangerously close the other’s face. Jihoon swallowed hard, then with all the strength he could muster, he leaped forward and introduced the back of Seongwu’s head to the jagged rock.

 

A dull thud.

 

Seongwu did not fall to the ground like Jihoon had expected, instead he hunched forward wincing in pain. For a second, he seemed disorientated enough, but then a slash of metal through the air told Jihoon he was wrong. On impulse Seongwu had swiveled around, blindly striking at the male behind him. Jihoon attempted to dodge, but it was not enough for his shoulder to escape the slice of the sharp blade. In retrospect, it was a stupid idea to approach a skilled swordsman at close range with such a weapon, and yet he was glad he had done it. Although he didn’t manage to render the man unconscious, the distraction did give enough time for Jinyoung to plough his sword through the hollow of the other male’s chest.

 

Seongwu fell to his knees with a gasp, his mouth agape before he hit the ground with a dull thud. Jihoon dropped the rock he was holding onto and stepped back, meeting eyes with a shell shocked Jinyoung. The sound of Seongwu choking on his own blood filled the air between them, followed by the clattering of Jinyoung’s sword as it hit the ground. Still panting, Jinyoung swallowed the lump in his throat and averted his gaze from the now silent body of his mentor. To kill a stranger was one thing. To kill someone who had raised you, grown up with you, was another. Jinyoung wished he could be like Seongwu. Detached. It would make everything a whole lot easier. He turned his attention to the male he'd thought he would never see again. 

 

“I told you to run didn’t I?”

 

A mirthless laugh escaped Jihoon at the blunt rhetoric,“Then you would’ve been sliced to pieces, and ‘ _See you later’_ would've end up another lie. Was everything a lie? Was the protective charm thing a lie? Was everything you told me a lie too? Done to win over my trust so you could invade the palace? Very clever, Bae Jinyoung.”

 

Jinyoung glanced up at the other then, opening his mouth to reply only to be stopped in his track at the sight of blood staining the emerald silk of Jihoon’s robe.

 

“You’re bleeding!”

 

Concern marred his face as he rushed forward to check the wound, only for the other to step back out of reach. Jinyoung frowned. The elder’s pale neck was smeared with crimson, likely from the transfer of his own blood, and his eyes were rimmed red, large and glassy, staring back at Jinyoung accusingly.

 

“You’re bleeding, sire,” he tried again, exasperation clear on his face.

 

Jihoon chuckled again, this time a bitter sound that left Jinyoung feeling more alienated than he had ever felt around the older male.

 

“It’s a shallow cut. And you’re not answering me...God, I should’ve known it was too good to be true, nothing good ever happens to me.”

 

Jinyoung watched as the other turned around, his body weary after that adrenaline fueled stunt, vulnerable and awkward as if he didn’t know what to do with himself anymore. Jihoon wiped the tear before it could slide down his cheek. It all suddenly felt too much. From their high clearing, he could make out the palace clearly. The fire was gone, but the tall pillars of smoke remained. It was quiet, the bloody aftermath of an invasion. He clenched his teeth and closed his eyes when his gaze fell on the castle door. Mounted atop pikes were heads he wished weren’t so familiar.

 

_Mother._

 

_Father.._

 

_It’s all my fault. I let them in. I’m so sorry._

 

Home. It was gone. He dared not feel sorry for himself.

 

“Sire..”

 

Jinyoung’s voice was soft, almost inaudible, as if he feared speaking too loud would scare Jihoon off. The lump in Jihoon’s throat fell to his chest, that familiarity, that warmth, he wanted nothing more than to fall into the safety of Jinyoung’s arms. But what did that make him? To desire the touch, the comfort of the person who had been a conspirator in his parents’ murder. To want to be held by that person while his parents decapitated heads sat on a pike, displayed like some sort of gruesome trophy for the whole town to see.

 

“They weren’t lies…” Jinyoung’s eyes were large with worry, his hand shaky as he reached out towards the unresponsive male. “I’m sorry, sire. And nothing I say could ever fix that. But I didn’t lie, not about my feelings.”

 

Jihoon shook his head slowly, the response passing over him unretained. “You looked me in the eyes everyday, and lied. Planted hope in my heart, but now I’ve realised they were nothing but sweet deception,” his voice quivered, breaking down like Jihoon himself who had begun to slowly process all that was lost,“And now my parents are dead. My people are dead. All because I gave you my heart. Because I trusted you, Bae Jinyoung. Now I have nothing.”

 

The look on Jihoon’s face was that of a lost boy, raw and pained, guilt riddened, the look of a man who had lost his footing in the world. The ire had died down in his eyes, leaving only sad remains in its wake. Jinyoung’s heart throbbed in his chest, and he wanted nothing more than to pull the elder into his arms, but he knew he didn’t deserve to be that person for Jihoon anymore. He knew but walking away wasn’t an option, not when it hurt this much. So he stepped forward, arms extended feebly as words left his lips, sounding much too fractured, even to his own ears.  

 

“You have me. You’ll always have me. Now and always, I’m yours, Park Jihoon.”

 

Jihoon was weak, he had always been weak. To that soft voice, and clear eyes. The comforting touches. And so he lost the battle of will to the gnarled desire for comfort. For Bae Jinyoung.

 

Jinyoung watched as the elder broke down, whatever icy wall it was he had formed between them shattering with his prudence.

 

The last thing he remembered was the relief he felt when Jihoon walked into his embrace. The warmth of the small body in his arms as he pulled him close. The wash of devotion.

 

And then it was all pain.

 

\--------

 

Jihoon often wished he could disappear into Jinyoung’s body, slip beneath his skin. To be completely hidden from the world in the warmth that no other source could ever provide for him. This time was no different, though as he pulled Jinyoung close there was a noticeable tingle, a strange sensation of hurt. He attributed it to the emotional turmoil battling inside of him, its toxin seeping out.

 

But then Jinyoung’s arms around him slackened and his body went limp, heavy in his arms, and the tingle was gone.

 

A familiar panic stirred in his chest.

 

“Jinyoung?”

 

Amidst his own self dwelling he had failed to notice the silence. He failed to notice that the fast beating of a heart that usually matched his own was missing. The calming rice and fall of a chest against his. Jinyoung was still.

 

“Jinyoung?” he called again, this time louder, a little more desperate.

 

The younger male’s body was warm, though it was no longer emanating from the inside like before, as if someone had pulled the plug, as if all that remained was the essence of what was, lingering on his skin, cooling at every interval. Eventually Jihoon’s knees gave in, and he buckled to the ground with the weight of the other’s body.   
  
“Jinyoung..Jinyoung!” He was trembling now, his words coming out in short gasps. “Jinyoung, I told you not to get distracted when I’m talking to you.”

 

With his nose still buried in the crook of the other’s neck, he clenched his eyes shut and pulled the younger’s limped arm over his body. “Are you tired? You must be. I’m sorry for being angry. I’ll never be angry again, okay?”

 

...

 

His lips quivered as he spoke, the weights getting heavier and heavier in his chest, until he couldn’t breathe. Jinyoung would usually run his fingers through his hair at times like this, reassure him with gentle words of comfort when he awoke from those nightmares. But the arm he had place around his waist remained limp, and only the cold wind ruffled his hair. Jihoon clung on tighter to the body next to his, pressing his face into the crook of Jinyoung’s neck, trying his best to emulate the safety he felt all those nights before. The shelter he seeked in the other boy.

 

“Jinyoung...You must be sleeping now, right? I’m talking too much right? Sorry. I will let you sleep now. When you wake up tomorrow, I will take you to that place we talked about, okay? I won’t break my promise, so neither can you, alright?” A broken whimper escaped his lips as hot tears spilled atop his lover’s skin, “I need you..”

 

…

 

..

 

.

  


“Please stay with me, Bae Jinyoung.”

  


\-------

  


_To My Prince, my most beloved of all,_

 

_Today is the day you were born, and what a blessed day it is, for today this world was gifted you. There is little I am grateful for. All I have ever known is bloodshed. But the heavens must have decided I have more purpose in this world than just violence, and so they allowed me to meet you. They bestowed me with a new purpose, a never ending one that will never be fulfilled, for everyday I seem to only adore you more. By the time this reaches you, I would have told you everything. You might be despising me with all your heart, as I do myself. I would rip out my wretched heart if that would allow me to go back and change it all. Please know that no matter what my loyalty, love, and devotion will remain with you, always._

 

_This necklace may not be the protection charm you are looking for, but jade is said to bring good fortune and good health. Until I find the end to all this, I hope you will accept this small gift of my gratitude and devotion._

 

_Until the sky falls and kingdom come,_

_in heaven, hell, beneath the midnight sun_

_I shall love you, my beloved_

_even when my days are done._

 

_Yours always,_

_Bae Jinyoung_  



End file.
